Rebirth of a Phoenix
by colorfulCheshire
Summary: The Phoenix is a majestic bird of fire. When it's body is too old and worn it dies in flames. It is reborn, completely new, in the ashes of its former self, stronger than ever to fly the wide world. -Bday present for Mushra, Aug 25.


**This is a birthday present for Mushra on August 25. I know I didn't do anything last year *sadface*, but I have redeemed myself with a story for him looking into my fanmade-past for him.**

**I know it's rough at first, but it does get better. Don't think that because of this and my previous chapters of ****Only by The Night**** that I like torturing him, because I don't. It just is a really good way for me to delve into his psyche.**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Shinzo, yet I would be happy just owning Mushra. *dreams***

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Rebirth of a Phoenix

He lay there against the cold, damp cobblestone, his half-naked body wracked with shivers. He could feel it now - the cold, sharp and painful down to his insides. It left him weak, a trembling excuse of a boy sobbing silently in the icy dungeon. He didn't care anymore whether the tears froze to him or not, not that it could make matters any worse – his own blood had frozen his wounds shut before it could naturally begin clotting and the maroon ice sporadically covered his body in random blotches.

At least, he consoled himself, the salty tears would ice much more slowly. Maybe, he half-hoped, he would be dead by that time, and when his father came down for his allowed visits, he would see the frozen corpse of the prince. With him dead, the hidden organization would no longer have control over his father or his country. Sadly enough, he realized, this brought a tiny smile to his cracked purple lips.

He heard a grinding of metal as the gate in the back screeched open, his body crying out for the slight breeze of outside air that floated past him. The loud _clank-clank _of footsteps echoed down the hallway leading to his cell and the prince inwardly flinched, knowing the sound of the steel grips of his captor's favorite pair of boots.

There was a jangling of keys, thick and rusty, and a clank of the lock. There were a few thuds and the pounding of metal on metal until the door was finally kicked open with a loud bang, the icicles tinkling as they broke off and hit the ground.

"Ged' up," came the disgusted voice of the over-weight duke, his voice slurred and cruel, indicating that he had just been drinking.

Facing the wall, the boy didn't even bother a sigh. Even without the leaden shackles on his neck and limbs, he was too weak to move anything. _'Too weak.'_

"I sehhhhd _**GED UP**_**!**" Thick fingers clamped down to the roots of his lavender locks, threatening to remove them like weeds, and yanked him up, the heavy shackles rubbing raw against his neck and dragging his limbs down as the chains clanked out an ominous tune.

He was on his knees now, his head held up to look at the overgrown man that leaned down to leer at him, a wicked gleam in his hazy black eyes. From the heavy scent of ale and cheap perfume it was obvious that he had just come back from his favorite brothel. The teenage prince avoided his face, pointedly fixing his icy blue eyes to the wall to his right, surprised that he had mustered enough energy to scowl.

"Heh, schtill have a bit o' flame in yeh, boy?" he drunkenly challenged. "Hav'n frozen it outta yee, yet?"

Frozen, broken, bloodied, bruised, and far too weak to do anything, a deep fire still _did_ burn inside the defeated prince. His body was broken and he craved any kind of solace, even death, but his will still held strong.

"As . . . if . . .," he managed to croak out, eyes still on the wall, the thick neck-brace pressing against his throat while his head was tilted back as it was and his tongue far too dry to make any real insult.

The duke's chubby face lit up in a flash of rage, his beady eyes squinting into glossy slits that glared at the filthy, frozen boy in his grasp. He raised one ringed hand and brought it slamming across the already-bruised cheek of the boy, releasing his grasp on his hair and sending him flying towards the bars of his cell. His flight was stopped though, as the chains holding his shackles to the floor pulled taught and slammed him to the ground with a thud and clanking of chains.

The boy's breaths were shallow before, but now as his lungs instinctively tried to draw in air, they were barely audible. He didn't attempt to move, his chest barely rising and his back searing from where it landed and was cut on one of his thick chains. The man walked over to him, kicking his bare side as he stepped over him and leaned down into his face. He glarred at the boy, but the prince still avoided looking at him, a scowl plastered across his face as he tried to mask the pain.

"Not duh right mube," he slurred, breathing alcoholic fumes through a crooked grin as he pulled a whip from his pouch.

"I'm . . . not scared," he gasped out between clenched teeth. He wasn't, either. He just wanted it to all be over, but he wasn't going to give the bastard the pleasure of hearing him beg or scream. He would be the noble prince he was brought up to be, even to the end.

The only thing he focused on during the next hours of beatings was how angry he was. The anger bubbled inside and warmed his inner flame. Though, he hated the duke, it wasn't toward him. He was furious at himself, enraged for how weak he was. He had been captured because he was weak and he had endangered not only his family, but the entire country. He took this anger and held it close to his heart, swearing that whatever fate had for his soul, he would _**never**_ be this weak again.

Then he felt it: that tiny little thread that tied everyone. He felt it snap.

He could see the sudden mistake in the duke's eyes - that last kick having been too much, and he knew what was happening as his numbingly cold body suddenly seemed gone and entirely nothing. Now that the thread had snapped, nothing held him to the broken flesh any longer and he could feel himself falling - falling deep into darkness.

As he had hoped, death was white hot and cleansing like fire. It grabbed a hold of his beaten soul and burned away all the wounds and filth, leaving him warm and soft like a new-born babe. The fiery darkness cradled him, held him close to its bosom, rocking him into a tranquil trance of peace and burning warmth.

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He had no idea how long he was in the burning darkness, but when the ecstasy of that place wore off, he was suddenly aware of how whole he felt, as if he had an entirely new body. It was soft and warm, yet sturdy and strong, making his memory of his previously broken body seem like nothing but a bad dream.

He was aware of a great presence around him and suddenly the darkness didn't seem so dark, instead it seemed that it had been blindingly white the entire time, yet he didn't have to shade his eyes in the least. The prince found that he was in a white room with a glossy, wooden round table and a gold-framed mirror. He recognized the boy staring back, yet now he seemed more complete, more perfect, not a scrape or scar to reveal the tortures he had known.

"That's all gone now," said the voice of a man behind him, strong and powerful yet gentle as a dove. The prince turned around slowly to see a lean, powerful man with bright golden wings and eyes the same color. He seemed to radiate greatness and power, yet he held a loving gaze for the boy, whose knees suddenly failed him as he fell on his butt.

"A-am I- well, never mind. I know I'm dead," he stuttered, looking up at the winged man who held out a hand to help him up.

"No, Mushra, you've never been more alive," he smiled as he took a seat at the table, motioning for the boy to do the same.

Mushra could only nod numbly, his new body telling him that it was true, as he took the seat across from the man. He couldn't take his eyes off him and whatever radiance that seemed to pour from his very being.

"Mushra, I have an offer for you, and I don't want you to feel obligated to the favor I'm about to ask. I'd like you to choose whatever you wish." The boy nodded quietly in response. "I'm sure you very well know this already, but I want to point out that there are many other people, adults and children alike, who are suffering what you have been through." Mushra's sky eyes fell as he recalled the agony, "Just like you, there's no one to help them, no one to protect them and comfort them, no one to fight for them when they're too weak to even stand." He paused here and his golden eyes fell to the boy, watching him as his brows furrowed and his hands clenched into fists atop his knees.

"Why are you telling me this?" he finally asked, not daring to look up from his lap lest he lose his nerve. Here the man smiled and the prince could feel a wave of warmth even though he didn't dare glance at the gesture.

"I want _you_ to help them," he said securely.

There was a long silence between the pair as Mushra continued to stare at his hands, clenching and unclenching his fists over his black pants. He hated to think that others still suffered as he did, and the thought of helping, if only a little, was something that he wished he could do. The problem was that he had no idea what he could do or who he could help when he was as weak as he was. He couldn't even save himself.

Finally, a bit glumly, he replied, "I can't possibly do that. I'm not strong enough."

"What if I gave you the power to do so? This caught the prince's attention and the man smiled as the pair of sky-blue eyes was suddenly focused intently on him. "Could you help them if I gave you the strength to help?"

"I'll take all you got and then some," the lavender-haired boy found himself muttering as he began to seriously consider himself being strong enough to stop the pain, to stop the fear. The man chuckled at this, his laugh rich and warm like a delicious pastry.

"Oh, you only need a little help from me. You have more power than you think." He reached across the table and put one finger against the boy's chest. "It's all right here and stronger than most."

"I have that power?" he asked a bit dubiously, unconvinced that he could have had any power that the man was talking about.

"Yes, it burns like a fire deep within you, your courage and love feeding it as you grow. You only need a little outside help from me. Do you think you could put this power to use? Could you become one of my soldiers? Do you _want_ to become a Guardian, a protector of all?"

It was obvious to both the golden-winged man and the lavender-haired boy, but of course he was to be given the choice. Mushra slammed his open palm on the table top, jumping up in excitement.

"Bring it."

The man smiled and nodded.

Suddenly, the radiance the he seemed to exude wrapped itself around the boy and flowed into him, his inner fire suddenly flaring up like an explosion of energy. When the dust of swirling power finally settled inside, he found that he was wearing golden armor over his white shirt and black pants. He turned to look in the mirror and saw that he had his own pair of golden wings, though not near as magnificent as the man's who had bestowed them.

"You are now a Guardian, Mushra, a Seraph – the highest of angels, burning with love. You now protect all those who live from pain and suffering. Their soles are in the Guardians' hands."

Mushra nodded, testing the power as it flowed through him and picturing how easy his task would be and the broken soles he could save from the torture his knew. He was like a phoenix, burning and powerful, a symbol of renewal.

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**I hoped you liked it. I really wanted to write about _how_ he became a Guardian so there. The thought has always been in my head after Binka's pleading with Lanancuras when she said 'It must take a lot of courage to become a Guardian in the first place.' There will probably be more on his past life in Light of Shinzo.**

**Please forgive me for the subtle religious reference, but I am Christian and I also like to think that the Seraphs are basically the same as the Guardians, angels to protect us. And I'm also sorry to all the extremely religious folks out there (though I don't know why you would be reading fanfiction) about the non-bolding of His speech and non capitalization of He. I just didn't want it to be too obvious and to impose upon any non-Christians.**

**I also apologize for grammar and spelling. I did this at night, but I just went back and reread today so it should be good now.**

***cough* That little disclaimer out of the way, please review! I love them more than favorites, I swear! (though faves are lovely too.)**

**HAPPY BIRTHDAY, MUSH-KUN! I LOVE YOUUUUUUUUU! (If no one could guess that from the username)**

**~Mushraluvr**


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